


Deals With the Devil

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Blackmail, M/M, Molestation, Rape, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack makes a deal to protect his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deals With the Devil

They remove the cuffs when they take him to Pulitzer, but he’s still a prisoner. For the first time in his life, Jack Kelly has no idea how he’s going to get out of this. It’s not a comfortable situation.

Pulitzer watches the boy from the staircase. Kelly’s older than he thought at first, but there's something appealing about the youth all the same. Yes, he can work with this. All he has to do to break the strike is break the boy.

He’s dealt with this type before. Arrogant little bastards who think they’re as good as him when in reality they’re less than the mud he scrapes off his shoes. He tells the paper boy to shut up and listen to him, noting the way the boy’s mouth twists.

“Power.” Pulitzer repeats. “I have the power to break you and keep you crawling back for more.”

Jack laughs.

Pulitzer backhands him across the face and Jack falls back into the armchair. The newspaper giant towers over him. Jack doesn’t like being called boy, and he doesn’t like being told to shut up. He doesn’t like it when men try to pull this sort of thing on him, and he especially doesn’t like it when he feels he has no escape plan. There’s a faint coppery taste in Jack’s mouth as he realizes he’s bitten his tongue. Fear settles in his gut as he’s trapped there in the armchair.

“I have the power to keep you here.” Pulitzer leans in, his face too close for Jack’s comfort. “To do with as I please.” He grips Jack’s jaw, forcing his head up as he studies the young face before him. “And you will, unless you want your friend to spend the rest of his life in the Refuge.”

He can’t go back to the Refuge. He won’t.

But he will do this for David. That’s the size of it. After all the lies he’s spun, to make himself sound so much better than he is, he can’t let David end up there. It’d ruin him. Jack’s ruined enough lives already. He doesn’t need to add more to the list.

Jack licks his lips, watching Pulitzer’s eyes. "Yeah, all right." He strives for nonchalance. "On one condition."

Pulitzer’s amused at him thinking he can demand anything. "And that is?"

"Snyder keeps his hands off." Jack says flatly. He can put up with a lot of things, but he won’t put up with that. Not anymore.

Pulitzer laughs. Then suddenly he has Jack pressed flat up against the back of the chair, holding him in place by his shirt collar. “If I say he can touch, he can touch.” His fingers skim Jack’s collarbone, flicking the sweaty bandana aside so he can press his thumb against Jack’s adam apple. “And tonight, he can.” He releases Jack. “After that though, if you’re a good little boy, then he’ll get his orders to keep away from you. Understood?”

“Yeah.” Jack swallows.

“Good.” Pulitzer’s pleased. He lights a cigar and nods to Seitz. “Take him back to the Refuge tonight.”

* * *

David meant well, but that brief escape just made the inevitable that much worse. Jack’s never felt as humiliated as when he turns himself in to the Refuge. Snyder’s just grinning at him as he walks through the door of his office. “We knew you’d be back.” His hand lands on Jack’s shoulder like a vise. “Thought you could get away from here, didn’t you?”

Jack pulls away out of habit, but Snyder’s ready for him, punching him quickly in the stomach. Jack falls. He tries to roll, but Snyder’s boot is there, keeping him in place as he unloops his belt.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” The warden says softly. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking for you.” The toe of his heel digs into Jack’s ribs. “I am going to enjoy this immensely.”

Jack keeps his head down as the blows start falling. Snyder’s getting him for all the backtalk at the courthouse. Jack knows he should have kept his big mouth shut. At the time, he’d thought he had a chance of still getting away. He should have let the reality of the handcuffs sink in then and there. He’s never getting out of this sinkhole.

He tries to think of anything else, but nothing works. When the blows stop he’s relieved, except he knows what’s coming next.

Snyder unbuttons his pants.

The warden never dared do this before. It was all just quick squeezing touches that make Jack squirm at the memory. This though… he’s not ready for this. Not ready to have Snyder’s hands on him, holding him down as they are now.

He’s not ready, and it doesn’t make a single bit of difference.

Snyder tugs his pants down, whistling as he does. The breeze through the open window feels chilly on Jack’s exposed thighs. There’s a hand crawling up his leg and he tenses.

Snyder laughs. “You can spread ‘em or not. Still gonna get fucked, boy.” He grips Jack’s hair, forcing his head back as his hand goes between the boy’s legs.

Jack kicks out savagely, hitting Snyder in the ankle. The warden grunts and reacts by smacking his head against the wooden floor. Jack’s vision blurs. The wall is moving slightly. Snyder’s pushing his legs further apart. The floor’s hard underneath his cheek. Jack grits his teeth as Snyder settles between his legs, the warden’s stubby little prick stabbing inside him. It hurts like nothing before and he wants to scream. His fingernails dig into the floorboards. The dull sound of flesh striking repetitively keeps replaying in his ears.

Snyder grunts again and is done. “Should have done this a long time ago.” He braces himself on Jack’s hip as he pushes himself to his feet. “Maybe it would have kept you in line.”

Jack wants to laugh, but all that comes out is a wheeze. He manages to get up on his knees, pulling his pants up.

* * *

Jack spends the night in one of the cells, unable to sleep.

He's still bruised and sore when he's delivered to Pulitzer the next evening. Done up all fancy in his new suit, and broken underneath.

Pulitzer frowns at him, realizing he may have made a mistake by letting Snyder have him first. "Show me."

Jack unbuttons his trousers slowly, cheeks flushing. He gets them down at last, then shoves his drawers down as well. Pulitzer traces the bruises on the backs of his legs, across his buttocks, sliding his fingers along the crease of his ass.

Jack stays perfectly still, but Pulitzer presses more sharply against his bruises, forcing him to cry out. At last he steps back, turning his back as the boy covers himself once more.

"On your knees." Pulitzer goes over to the liquor stand. He pours himself a brandy. "Not there. Over by the armchair." He watches Jack shuffle forward awkwardly. Pulitzer swirls his brandy, savoring the moment.

He takes a seat in the armchair, looking down at the boy between his knees. Jack looks back at him resentfully. His face is a catalogue of bruises today. There’s the one Pulitzer gave him, but his entire left cheek is purple. Snyder is a harder man then he thought, Pulitzer muses. He takes a sip of brandy before setting the glass aside. The boy watches him as he unfastens his trousers.

“Go on.” Pulitzer settles back in his chair as the boy lowers his head. He’d thought about fucking him, but this will do to start with. “You’re good at this.” He murmurs, though he’s barely registering the mouth moving on him. The rest of the newsboys are still struggling on with their pitiful cause. He wonders if they would give up if they saw their leader as he was now.

The telephone rings and the boy pauses.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Pulitzer reaches for the phone. Jack continues.

It’s Hearst. Pulitzer chuckles at the man’s question. “They’re still pretending they have a chance.” He glances down. “The leader? No, he’s not a concern anymore.” The boy’s mouth halts briefly, then continues.

“Are we still on for poker next week, Saturday? Good. Good.” He hangs up, reaching for his brandy.

Jack’s jaw is aching. Pulitzer’s hard enough, but shows no sign of coming. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. His legs are killing him. He’s been pretending this was far removed from reality, but the telephone conversation has grounded him firmly.

Pulitzer tugs his hair slightly. “Get up.”

Jack hopes that it’s over for the night, but he’s smart enough to know there’s no way he’s getting out of this that easily.

“Not that good, apparently.” Pulitzer takes another sip of brandy. “I thought newsboys were good at this sort of thing.”

“Don’t know where you heard that. I spent my time selling papes.”

Pulitzer opens a box of cigars, glancing at him. “When you’re not going on strike.”

He’s taunting him now. Jack should keep his mouth shut. David would keep his mouth shut, or he’d have something clever to say. Jack’s not David. He’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“We never would have gone on strike if you hadn’t started gouging us.”

Pulitzer’s head jerks up, glaring at him over his glasses. “It’s my business. I can do what I like with it.”

“Maybe. But it ain’t fair.”

Pulitzer laughs. “You think life is fair? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Nothing.” Jack says quietly. “Nothing at all. But sometimes you meet people who give you a fair chance and you think, maybe, it could be.”

The newspaper man just laughs again. “Boy, you’re more naive than a nun at a burlesque show.” He knocks ash off his cigar into the ashtray.

“Not really.” Jack’s a lot of things. A liar, a thief, cheater, con. He’s trusted people when he shouldn’t and lied to people he shouldn’t have. And he believes in things that might never happen.

But he believes in them all the same. But he’s not naive and never has been.

Pulitzer apparently disagrees. “If I say you’re naive, boy, you’re naive.”

Jack goes over to the liquor cabinet sidebar and reaches for the whiskey. He doesn’t bother with a glass, just lifts the decanter to his mouth, taking a good long swig. When he’s finished he sets it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Pulitzer’s just glaring at him. “Get your hands off my things.”

Jack holds his hands up in a mock surrender. The whiskey is settling pleasantly in his belly.

It doesn’t take much to set the man off. He flicks cigar ash on the carpet. “I see you still need to be taught a lesson.” He advances on Jack who holds his ground. The newspaper mogul isn’t that much taller than him. It’s just his manner that makes him loom.

Pulitzer grips Jack’s neck, squeezing slightly, forcing him back against his desk. Once he has Jack trapped there, he reaches for the bandanna around the boy’s neck. Pulitzer pulls it free, tying it around Jack’s mouth, effectively gagging him before pushing him over the desk.

Jack struggles and Pulitzer punches him in the side. “Lie still.” He reaches for the boy’s trousers.

Jack kicks out at him, but Pulitzer’s leaning against him, forcing him hard against the desk.

“Get off me.” Jack’s words are muffled by the gag. Pulitzer just laughs as he works his trousers down.

Jack stops struggling as the man enters him. It hurts too much. He lays there, saliva soaking his bandanna as he counts endlessly in his head. Soon it will be over. Soon.

There are tears on his cheeks by the time Pulitzer withdraws.

He cleans himself off with his handkerchief before dismissing Jack for the night. Offhandedly, Pulitzer considers having the boy present at his next poker game.

* * *

When Jack gets back to the Refuge he’s ushered to Snyder’s office.

“You know the deal.” Jack says the moment the man looks at him.

Snyder regards him thoughtfully "Oh yes, he said I couldn't touch.” His smirk widens. “He never said I couldn't look though." He gestures at Jack. "Off."

"No."

Snyder's eyes narrow. "I suppose I can always think of something…pleasant for your friend Crutchy tonight."

Jack undresses slowly. He will never make allow himself to call another person friend. He can't risk it. He can't bear it.

Snyder's eyes linger on his form. He licks his lips like Jack’s a tasty meal he’s had once, and will never get to sample again, but that doesn’t stop him from drooling over him night after night.

For that first week at least. Every night Jack gets taken to Pulitzer’s mansion, and then delivered back to the Refuge where Snyder devours him with his eyes.

After that Jack gets moved to the cellar beneath the printing office. At least it’s away from Snyder. Jack curls up on dusty sheets and tries not to think of anything at all.

* * *

The poker game takes place in Pulitzer’s study that Saturday night. Jack has a bad feeling from the first time the doorbell rang.

These are the men he’s worked for all his life. They breathe clean air, have good food, soft beds and do things like this, gambling casually for the pleasure of it. Not because the chance of winning double or nothing means the difference between sleeping under a roof or under a rotten porch with the rain falling down.

Jack hates every single one of them. He knows they can see it in his eyes. They look at him, and then at Pulitzer, curiously, knowingly, but none of them speaks about it.

He stands against the wall behind Pulitzer’s chair during the game. The newspaper man ignores him for the most part. Jack’s leg cramps and he resists the urge to fidget. What is he here for?

The doorbell rings again and this time the man the butler leads into the room is someone Jack recognizes.

Denton masks his surprise well. He shakes the hands of his newspaper superiors and doesn’t glance at the boy in the corner. Jack ducks his head, keeping it low. He can't meet the reporter's eyes. He can't deal with any of this.

“What are you doing here?” Denton asks as he pours himself a drink. He has his back turned slightly away from the poker table.

“Funny. I was gonna ask you the same question.” Jack keeps his voice even. He still hasn’t forgiven Denton for not running the story.

“Jack, I couldn’t,” Denton trails off. “I can get you out of here. Just say the word.”

Jack shakes his head. Even if it were true, he can’t risk it. “I gotta handle this on my own.” He leans in. “Do me a favor, though, will ya? Don’t say a word of this to Davey.”

Denton nods. “You have my word.”

“Boy.” Pulitzer barks.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Jack moves forward until he’s standing at Pulitzer’s side. He’s not sure what he expected, but as Pulitzer speaks it’s all he can do to keep himself from bringing his clenched fists down on the man’s head.

“This,” Pulitzer spreads his arms expansively. “Is Jack Kelly, the leader of the newsboys’ strike.”

The men murmur, eyeing him cautiously.

“An escaped convict who up until recently was causing us quite a bit of trouble.” Pulitzer chuckles, the cigar in the corner of his mouth clenching tight between his teeth. “And now he’s no trouble at all, gentlemen. He’s been caught, collared, and put in his place.” His hand lands on Jack’s shoulder. “On your knees, boy.”

Jack goes, but it takes every ounce of the man’s strength to shove him there. He waits, feeling the gaze of every man present upon him.

“Go ahead.” Pulitzer barks, starting to deal the cards. So Jack unfastens his pants and starts sucking him off while the poker game continues. The air feels hot around him. Occasionally one of the men glances at the bobbing head, but says nothing. Denton’s the only one who doesn’t play. He just stands there silently, as the ice melts slowly in his scotch.

* * *

Afterward, when Jack’s alone in the cellar once again, he leans back against the grimy wall and closes his eyes. Pulitzer was right. It’s all about power.

Power of the press.

He opens his eyes.

It’s been staring him right in the face for days.

Jack smiles.

Facing Pulitzer in his office is the hardest thing Jack’s ever done. He can still feel the man’s hands on his wrists, holding him down. The scratch of his beard on his back. If the man opens his mouth, David will know everything.

It’s a chance Jack has to take, because he needs this. Needs to walk out of this office a free man. Once and for all.

Jack squares his shoulders and goes in.


End file.
